Keeping the Date
by NightFuryofGallifrey
Summary: He's late - 70 years late. Be he promised to be there. One-shot. Set sometime after the first Avengers movie.


**A/N:** Hey everyone! And I'm back with more angst! For some reason it seems to be easiest to write... not sure why, because I'm not depressed or anything. I guess I just have a lot of feelz. :P Anyway, new fandom. This is the first time I've written for Captain America, so let me know if the characterization is off or anything.

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I don't own Captain America. If I did, I wouldn't have written this and wouldn't bawl my eyes out at the end of the movie every time. (Actually I might have. It was good from an author's point of view, but devastating to a fan's)

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><p>CAPTAIN AMERICA:<p>

KEEPING THE DATE

He didn't want to do it.

But he knew it had been too long already.

The car rolled to a stop outside the gates. Steve licked his dry lips nervously, fiddling with the bouquet of flowers in his hands. He took a deep breath and opened the car door, stepping out into the bright sunlight.

He nodded his thanks to the cab driver and asked him to wait. He then turned to face the open field, standing at military attention for a moment until he mustered up the courage to move.

The sheer number of white tombstones on the rolling hills rocked Steve. He glanced back and forth, scanning the names of the brave men and women who had served their country well.

Then, near the middle of the cemetery, he saw the tall oak tree Tony had told him about.

Tony and his near-limitless connections had proved invaluable in Steve's search. Steve would never had stopped looking, but with Tony's help it took less than a day.

Steve had been in the middle of a phone call when Tony came into the room. Steve asked the man on the end to hold, then lowered the "Sell Phone" from his ear.

For once in the time Steve had known him, Tony seemed to lack his usual aura of confidence and arrogance. He wouldn't meet Steve's gaze as he told him, "We found her."

And now here he was. Steve stood in front of the grave, reading the black words on the white stone: _Margaret Carter._

Steve swallowed, suddenly feeling drained and exhausted. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked down at his feet. "I, uh… I'm sorry I'm late," he finally forced out.

Of course she didn't answer.

She didn't smile. She didn't ask him what had taken him so long. She didn't threaten him that he'd better not do it again.

"I, um…" Steve cleared his throat and pricked his finger on one of the thorns in the bouquet. "These are for you." He bent over reverently and set the bouquet of deep red roses, the color of her lips, in front of the headstone.

He straightened up. "I hope they're alright," he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I don't know what kind of flowers you like." He realized how little he really knew about her. How much he never got to know about her.

She didn't respond. She didn't bury her face in the flowers to take in their scent, didn't smile at him and tell them they were perfect. She didn't even reprimand him about how it was out of turn for a soldier to give his superior flowers.

"I'm sorry I left you waiting." Steve straightened and forced himself to look straight at the stone. It was the closest he would get to look her in the eye. "I let you down. And I'm sorry."

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the sleek device Tony had leant him. "Tony said it's called an "Eye Pod"," he explained. "I'm not really sure how it works…" He pressed the button on top that turned it on, then tapped the screen. The song started playing, and Steve slipped it back into his pocket. He straightened and held out his hand. "May I have this dance, Agent Carter?" He asked, with all the charm he could muster.

She didn't take his hand. But she didn't turn him down. That was a plus.

Trying to imagine the feel of her hand in his, Steve closed his eyes and put his other hand where her waist would be. Then slowly, to the tune, he started swaying.

_There'll be bluebirds over, the white cliffs of Dover, tomorrow, just you wait and see…_

"I hope I don't step on your feet," He apologized in advance. "You never got to teach me how to dance."

_ I'll never forget the people I met, braving those angry skies. I remember well, as the shadows fell, the light of hope in their eyes..._

He was silent for a while, listening to the song and concentrating hard on trying not to trip over his own feet as they moved in a gentle circle.

_ And though I'm far away, I still can hear them say 'Bomb's Up!'…_

"We won the war," he said softly. "I guess you knew that though. You won it, actually. I slept through most of it."

_For when the dawn comes out… there'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover, tomorrow, just you wait and see._

"I hope the song I picked is okay. It made me think of you."

_ There'll be love and laughter, and peace ever after, tomorrow, when the world is free…_

"Did you ever go to the White Cliffs of Dover?" He asked. "I bet they're beautiful. Not as beautiful as you though." Steve was afraid he was babbling and fell silent again.

_There'll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover, tomorrow, just you wait and see._

The song finished. Steve bowed awkwardly and opened his eyes. He was facing her gravestone again, the wind toying with the roses which stood out bright against the light stone.

Steve sank to his knees slowly, and gingerly reached out to touch her name. The stone felt cold, not like her cheek would feel. It would be slightly flushed from the dance, and her eyes would be glowing.

"I'm sorry, Peggy," he whispered. He let his head fall and rested his forehead against the top of the stone. He closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to keep his emotions under control and face composed for her.

A single tear slipped out and streaked down the front of the tombstone, lighting on the roses.

After a few minutes, Steve took a shuddering breath and stood up, straightening in military style. He raised his hand and saluted sharply. "Until next time, ma'am," he said, voice emotionless.

She couldn't respond. But he almost thought he heard her whisper, _Goodbye, Steve_ in his ear as the breeze rustled the trees.

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><p><strong>AN: **Oh, the song, in case anyone is interested, is "(There'll Be Bluebirds Over) The White Cliffs of Dover" by Vera Lynn. Just recently started to listen to her today and I've fallen in love with the beauty of her voice and the songs (that I've heard anyway) were written during WWII, so a lot of them have to do with that, and the emotions of the people who had to part because of the war. And I'll stop rambling now, but she's good. Look her up. Listen to vintage music. It's underrated. *shuts up and goes to find breakfast*


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